Z14 (Zombie Rules) by David Achord Page B

Kimber.
                  He was large framed and burly looking, like a construction worker by day and a bouncer in a seedy bar at night.
                  I was about to give him a terminal case of lead poisoning, but hesitated when I saw a woman standing in the driveway next door, holding a small kid. She stared at me with dead eyes. Her plaid shirt was dirty and torn. The kid was runty, dirty, and looked downright weird, like maybe he had brain damage or something. It was obvious neither of them had seen a bar of soap in quite a while. She reminded me of the woman I had run over.
                  “You broke my nose.” I heard my assailant say. I looked down at him in contempt. He was sitting now and holding his bleeding nose.
                  “Why did you attack me?” I asked.
                  “You were trying to steal my truck.” He snarled and then blew a bloody snot wad out of his nostrils.
                  “Why are you lying?” I asked plainly.
                  “Are you calling me a liar, you fuck?” He demanded as he struggled to catch his breath.
                  “Yes, I am. The people who own this particular truck are inside their house, dead as shit. If you call me another disparaging name I’m going to shoot you in the kneecaps. You won’t be able to walk and sepsis will set in. You’ll die a slow lingering death. Choose your next words carefully. I’m not in a good mood today.”
                  He glared at me but said nothing. I looked over at the woman and child. They looked awful, dirty and malnourished. The kid looked no older than three or four. He was having these weird, intermittent muscle spasms and his eyes kept rolling back in his head.
                  “Who are you people?” I asked.
                  “He’s my husband and this is our child.” The woman said. The child suddenly burst out in laughter. Just as suddenly, he stopped and his face went blank, except for the spasms in his legs. It was extremely weird. I looked behind her. There six pathetic, but unfriendly looking men emerging from the back of a house across the street. They were about fifty feet away and steadily making their way toward me. And then it suddenly hit me. I had read about the symptoms the little boy was displaying.
                  “Kuru!” I gasped in disgust. The men continued closing the distance between us. They were armed with an assortment of machetes, bats, and knives. One of them had an old rusty shotgun. I didn’t like it. The one with the shotgun started to raise it and take aim, which sealed his fate. He started to say something, probably a threatening demand for me to drop my weapon, but before he could utter a word I shot him with the quickness instilled by the tutelage of Mister Frederick McCoy.
                  I knew at any second they were going bum rush me before I could shoot more than one or two. My survival instincts kicked in.
                  “Stop where you are!” I yelled. They froze and looked at each other.
                  “He’s just a fucking kid.” One of them growled, and in a silent agreement, they started to spread out. I quickly aimed center mass and shot another one. One of them started running toward me. I shot him, and then for good measure, put a bullet in the left knee of the one who attacked me. He howled in pain. The little kid burst out laughing again.
                  This time they listened and stopped. I walked over and grabbed the shotgun. It was a twelve gauge double barrel, very lethal in the right hands. I started inching my way toward my newly acquired truck.
                  “I’m right, aren’t I? You people are cannibals!” In spite of myself, I shuddered. I stared at the woman waiting for a response. She hung her head.